A Life Worth Living
by a-word-nerd
Summary: The night before the Quarter Quell Reaping, Annie is terrified that her name will be called and she'll be sent into the arena for a second time. Mags reveals to her that she has no intention of letting that happen.


The night before the Reaping had come far too quickly for anyone's liking. Finnick, Annie, and Mags had all congregated in Mags' living room, not wanting to spend it alone but not having much to say, either. There wasn't a whole lot that could be said. So the three of them sat mostly in silence, unenthusiastically picking at some shrimp that Mags had brought out, relying on the TV for background noise. They had been hard-pressed to find something on said TV that didn't have to do with either the Quarter Quell or Katniss Everdeen's newly cancelled wedding. Eventually, they'd settled on commercials.

"Those fishhooks are beautiful, Mags," Finnick said, noticing what looked like a new collection on a nearby table. "Did you just finish those?"

Mags nodded, gesturing first at the table and then at the large wall where she hung her masterpieces.

"You're going to hang them up?" Finnick guessed. Another nod from Mags. "That's great. You're going to need to start a new wall soon."

Mags gave a very quiet laugh. Finnick, seemingly unable to think of anything else to say, fell once again into silence.

Annie had been slowly tearing apart a piece of shrimp, part of her wanting to talk and another part of her wanting to stay quiet. She couldn't think about what was going to happen the next day without going lightheaded and being returned in her mind to the same day five years ago, when her name had been drawn from the bowl. Despite the nightmares of her days in the arena that plagued her constantly whether she was asleep or not, she had never even considered the possibility of going back.

The only thing potentially worse than returning to the arena herself would be having to watch Finnick go. Most of the time, he was the only thing that kept her connected to reality. He was the one constant in her life, the one remedy to the hellish chaos that occasionally took hold of her mind. Without him, she was afraid that she would never be able to chase her demons away again.

The very thought of it made her feel sick.

"Annie? Annie, are you alright? You don't look so good."

She hadn't even noticed that her hands had started shaking. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears, just like it always did when memories of the Games threatened to engulf her. She could feel Finnick's hand on her shoulder as his concerned face swam into view. "Annie? What's wrong, love?"

Annie took a deep, shuddering breath before saying weakly, "I just…need some air. I'll be right back." She got to her feet and hurried out to Mags' back porch, which offered a magnificent view of the ocean. She leaned on the railing and buried her face in her hands, wishing more than anything that she had the power to freeze time and stop the Reaping from taking place.

After a minute or so, she heard the creak of the door behind her as it opened, followed by slow footsteps making their way onto the porch. Annie removed her face from her hands long enough to say, "I'm fine, Finnick. I just need a minute." Seeing the worry and love undoubtedly filling his eyes would be enough to push her over the edge.

She got no response, which she felt was odd. She turned her head and was met with a slight shock-Mags hobbled up to stand next to her rather than Finnick. "Mags! I'm sorry, I…thought you were Finnick. I was just…I needed a minute…"

Mags placed a hand on her shoulder, shaking her head and giving her a knowing smile. Annie sighed and looked out at the ocean once more, watching the waves roll up and down the shore.

"It's going to be me, Mags, I just know it," Annie whispered. "And even if it's not me, it's going to be Finnick. It might be both of us. I can't…I can't lose him. I can't go in the arena with him. I'd rather die than lose him, Mags." Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them.

Mags reached up and put one hand on Annie's cheek, gently forcing her to turn her head. Annie looked at her, though the image of the aged face and the curly white hair was blurry. Mags stared her straight in the eye and pointed one finger at her, shaking her head. Then she pointed at herself.

In the split second it took for Annie to understand what Mags was saying, the whole world seemed to crumble beneath her. She and Finnick had briefly had this conversation—if Mags' name was called, they assumed that one of the other female victors would most likely volunteer to go in her place. Nobody was going to allow an eighty-year-old woman who had suffered a stroke to compete in the Hunger Games. But this was different. _Mags_ was planning to volunteer to replace _her_.

"Mags!" Annie gasped, tears now escaping from her eyes and flowing down her cheeks. "Mags, oh, Mags, no, I can't let you do that, please, please don't…"

Mags raised one hand in the air as if to say, _stop. _She had that look on her face that Annie knew meant she had made up her mind. This only upset Annie more, because she knew that nothing she could say was going to stop Mags from doing what she had decided to do.

Mags lowered her hand and took a piece of paper and a pen out of her pocket. This was what she did when she needed to say something that gestures and garbled words couldn't convey. She scribbled something down on the piece of paper and handed it to Annie, who read though her tears:

_I've lived my life, Annie. Now it's your turn to live yours._

Annie looked from the note back to her dear friend and mentor, unable to come up with words that could express how she was feeling. She felt that the most appropriate thing to do would be to throw her arms around Mags and cherish the few moments in which she wouldn't have to let go. And so she did.


End file.
